


i don't ever wanna feel (like i did that day)

by cancerthecrabbo



Category: Love Simon (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Apologies, Brother-Sister Relationships, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, Exhaustion, Family, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Makeup, Mother-Son Relationship, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2018, ethan is great, i'm not letting them get away with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 10:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cancerthecrabbo/pseuds/cancerthecrabbo
Summary: Being alone means the wound festers.  Every day, he progresses slowly from crushingly guilty to angry.  But most of all, he’s tired.Tired of the staring.  The whispering.  The pitying, over-exaggerated condolences.Or, the one in which they apologize.(Day 16 of Whumptober: Bedridden)





	i don't ever wanna feel (like i did that day)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, stopped, then vented through more writing, and finally realized I could use this story for whumptober lol. Idc if it's 'cheating' (idk the rules tbh) I am so TIRED and the days are just piling up, man. 
> 
> Anyway, I have a lot of feelings about being gays and trans and the stupid shit Simon's dumb straight friends did. They NEEDED to apologize. So I made them apologize.
> 
> Title from Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Simon has never been a clingy child.  He’s dependent on his parents as much as any other teenager would be, but no more than necessary.  His mother’s vast knowledge of the human mind, both developed and juvenile, has earned her the position of Best Mom.  She knows when to back off, when to hold on, and when to just be there.  She isn’t perfect, obviously, but she tries hard and has the experience and knowledge to be successful most of the time.

 

Now Simon is free-falling, and he needs his family more than ever.  His support system has been cracked down the middle, the entire other half of it shattered from his friend’s anger.  School is a living hell now that he’s alone.

 

Being alone means the wound festers.  Every day, he progresses slowly from crushingly guilty to angry.  But most of all, he’s tired.

 

Tired of the staring.  The whispering.  The pitying, over-exaggerated condolences.

 

The only thing that doesn’t make him angry or sad was his mom, dad, sister.  Getting up in the morning is possible solely because he knows it would worry his little sister if he doesn’t.  He can’t do that to her or to his dedicated parents who kiss him on the forehead and smile at him softly.  Nora doesn’t need any extra stress, especially regarding her older brother, since she already worries herself over him.  So, even though every morning feels old and exhausting and the idea of going to school makes his stomach turn, he puts on a smile.

 

His friends refuse to acknowledge his existence.  The boy he was falling in love with will never speak to him again; Simon doesn’t even know who that boy is.  The entire student body at his school knows that Simon is gay before he ever got to come out on his terms.  The person who outed him goes unpunished and is in his goddamn drama class.

 

It feels as though someone had placed a hand on Simon’s chest and shoved him with inhuman strength, pushing him so hard his breath left his body.  There is no other option but to fall – while at home, he has his family to slow his descent, but when he steps out of the house he has nothing behind him.

 

Every day he wakes up with the feeling like his stomach is in his chest.  Nothing short of a miracle will stop that.

 

-

 

The annual musical had hosted its closing night exactly one week ago.  The crowd had been spectacular, cheering at the right moments and clapping exceptionally loudly at the end.

 

Since that night, Abby, Nick, and Leah have stopped speaking to Simon.  He had stopped searching for their gaze three days after the musical.  Four cycles of waking up, dragging himself out of bed, going to school, and eating lunch alone later, and Simon has given up on Blue forgiving him. 

 

Now, it’s lunch again, and Simon has only his thoughts to accompany to the flavorless food.  The only thing going through his mind is his failures.  As a friend and as a son.

 

At this point, the food on his tray is mush from how much he’s pushed it around.  But something is different today.  He feels the distinct impression of eyes on him.  Now, this wasn’t rare in the days after being out, but by now the constant staring has died down.  There must be a special reason for the exception.

 

Simon’s whole body feels heavy these days.  He almost can’t scrounge up the motivation to move his head, and he’s so out of touch with the world that he nearly doesn’t care enough to survey the room.

 

When he does look up and lock eyes with Nick, he honestly wishes he had just kept his head down.  Regret fills him and the instinct of fight or flight rushes into his mind.  The choice is easy.

 

Simon stands quickly, hands gripping his tray so hard his knuckles turn white, and snatches his backpack from the floor.  He slides the food in the trash, leaves the tray in its spot, and walks as fast as physically possible.  He doesn’t want to make a scene, but his whole being is screaming to get away from those three.

 

He’s halfway to his car before any of them catch up.  Unfortunately, Martin is trailing behind the trio, and Simon thinks he might throw up if he doesn’t get away immediately.

 

“Wait, Simon, wait!”

 

It was almost satisfying how he slams the door on Abby.  Simon is, unfortunately, too distracted by the way his chest aches and heart races painfully.  His hands are shaking too hard, and he drops his keys under his seat.

 

Feelings that had festered and rotted over the past week bubble up from a place he had tried to lock up.  Simon squeezes his eyes shut frantically as his hand blindly scavenges around for the keys.  It takes all of his will to ignore Martin’s shouting from outside the car, and the only thing that keeps the tears from escaping is the relief of his hands closing over his cold keys.  The car starts and Simon takes a second to rub the blurriness from his vision.  All four of them are out there, eyes pleading and mouths moving rapidly. 

 

Simon ignores it and the fact that he’s skipping the rest of the day.  He can’t think of anything other than getting to his bed and lying down for an indefinite amount of time.  He drives, careful not to run anyone over, and time blurs until he collapses into bed.  The last of his energy is used to take his pants off – he isn’t going to sleep with jeans on.

 

…

 

His mom comes home and, using her built-in Mom Radar, goes straight upstairs with a mug of hot chocolate.  Her lips brush his forehead, and for a moment, Simon feels a little better.  The hot chocolate settles comfortably in his stomach.  Simon settles into the pillows.

 

\--

 

It’s almost impossible to ignore the many, many calls and messages they leave him, but Simon is determined.  The wounds are still too raw for him to go as far as blocking Abby, Leah, and Nick’s numbers, and somewhere in the crevice of his mind, he feels that he might be overacting.

 

He did keep Abby and Nick from becoming a couple.  And his dumb, oblivious ass had broken Leah’s heart.

 

But he hadn’t known Leah loved him.  How could he, as a gay teenager who was too close to Leah to see any difference in how she acted?  For years he had been tuned in to boys only, and he never imagined being anything other than Leah’s best friend.  And anyway, how could she not have thought that the last thing he wanted was to hurt her?  What type of person does she think he is?

 

And anyway, Simon had been blackmailed mercilessly by Martin.  Martin is a creep who has no tact and is socially awkward, but also a bad enough person to think that outing someone is a good way of getting revenge.  Simon had known that if the emails were posted, Blue would be gone forever.  And now he is.

 

Abby and Nick had overreacted, not Simon.  They didn’t truly take the time to think about the constant stress that Simon had been under.  He had been terrified every day that the emails would be leaked, that he would be outed, that everything in his life would change, and that Blue would leave.

 

He had spent _years_ hiding.  All he had wanted was to keep some sort of normalcy before he came out on his own terms.  He could never have known his parents were accepting – there was always the little voice in his head that said that it would change every aspect of his life.  He had been battling fear and anxiety; Abby and Nick had simply been barred from a relationship for a little longer. 

 

Simon curls up tighter in his bed and buries his face in the sheets against the burning in his eyes.  It has become routine to turn these thoughts over in his head – getting angry, getting sad, and finally ending with an ominous sort of apathy.  He’s quickly approaching the end stage of his spiral when someone knocks on his door.

 

“Come in.”

 

Light footsteps approach his bed.  A small weight disturbs the mattress and Simon blinks rapidly to get rid of the tears.  Nora sits cross-legged on his bed, a tiny smile on her face and a plate of gooey chocolate chip cookies in her hands.

 

“Hey, Si,” she says, “I made some cookies.  Wanna try ‘em?”

 

 _Not really_ , he thinks, _My stomach is trying to climb into my mouth_.  “Sure,” he says.  “They smell great.”  The smell of the chocolate is slightly appetizing.  Plus, Nora is getting good at making perfect chocolate chip cookies.  He picks up a warm cookie and bites into it.  Immediately, Simon thinks that she can legitimately make some money from these.

 

She asks how it tastes with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.  Simon also thinks that she might turn to baking when she’s stressed and that if she keeps it up, he’ll gain 10 pounds by the end of the week.  He tells her they’re perfectly gooey and digs into the rest of his treat.

 

Nora gives him another smile and leaves the entire plate on his desk.  His face relaxes into its original pensive expression the moment his door closes, and he allows himself to sink back into his pillow.  His little sister is sweet, but even her best attempts can’t help on really bad days.  Seeing those four at the same time with those apologetic, pitying expressions has sent him spiraling.

 

But a part of him wants to answer the calls and the texts and sit with his best friends again.  The same part of him wants to talk to Blue again.  And when he thinks of Blue, he thinks of Martin, and the anger comes back.  His consciousness retreats inwards as the same tired, old thoughts cycle through his mind.  Simon loses track of time.  By the time he ends on giving up and saying _fuck it_ , the sun had set.

 

\--

 

“I need…an education,” Simon says to himself, “So I can go to college.  I need to get to school on time.  One bad day shouldn’t be enough to knock me down.”  His alarm had rung some time ago and no matter how much he thinks about standing up and showering, he’s still in bed.  “I need an education.  Not a shower.”  With that compromise, he’s able to make his way downstairs with a hat on his head and an outfit that closely resembles pajamas.  Nora has a bowl of oatmeal waiting for him, and it looks so good he almost didn’t want to ruin it with a spoon.  His stomach rumbles, though, so he gives in easily. 

 

He says goodbye to his family and climbs into his empty car like he does every day.  Iced coffee tastes like crap lately so he skips it and pulls into the school parking lot with time to spare.  There are 15 minutes until the first bell rang, so he decides to lean his seat back and rest his eyes.

 

Simon wakes up to gentle tapping on his window.  His eyes peel open slowly, disoriented and sluggish, to see Ethan with an unreadable expression on his face.  Ethan’s eyes are soft and expression unreadable as he looks down at Simon.

 

Grabbing his backpack, Simon tumbles out of his car, barely landing on his feet.  “Morning, Ethan.”

 

“Sure is.”  Ethan glances around.  “The late bell is going to ring in three minutes.”

 

They start towards the school building.  “Oh, thanks.  Um, what’s your first period?”

 

Ethan’s eyebrow cocks.  “Simon, I don’t like to beat around the bush.  You look like something death chewed up and spit out on hot asphalt.  You need to talk to someone.”  His words are firm but not harsh and quiet in the hallway.

 

Thankfully for Simon, the late bell rings, so they both have to run to their first class as fast as possible.  The only problem is that Ethan is completely right.  Simon hadn’t bothered looking in the mirror in the morning because he knows he’s pale and drawn.  The effort to look unaffected had become too much very early on.  At home, he tries his best to look okay, but when he gets to school his image is already ruined, so it doesn’t really matter if he looks exhausted and sad all day.

 

Taking notes is a methodical process.  He feels better doing something productive.  All he has to do is listen and write down the most important parts.  _Talk to someone_.  Ethan’s words worm into his brain.  They fill him with dread despite the logical and healthy reasoning behind them.  _Talk about it to…someone_.  Who is Simon supposed to talk to?  His mother is already basically giving him therapy sessions every night after dinner.  He’s cried on her shoulder three times before falling asleep.  Who else would even want to listen, and would it even be worth it?  His mother is one of the only people he can trust and he’s close enough to want to tell her how he feels.  The only other people he would even want to talk to…well, he doesn’t really want to talk to them. 

 

Simon accepts the fact that he’s officially zoned out and starts writing whatever comes to mind so the teacher doesn’t notice.  It’s mostly nonsense so he can focus on not focusing. 

 

The very thought of talking to Nick, Abby, or Leah fills him with anxiety.  Just thinking about talking to them makes him physically shiver with nervous energy, but feeling so nervous about talking to the people that used to be his best friends is deeply upsetting.  He wants to be able to just reach out like before without these inhibitions but the sight of their furious, stricken faces with the grey sky outlining their silhouettes replaces whatever expression they might be wearing these days.  Nick and Abby are happy together, anyway, and Leah is better off without the boy who broke her heart.  He hurt them, after all.  


But.  Simon’s fingers curl tighter around his pencil.  Blinking, he sees he’s writing his thoughts under his notes about the convoluted math lesson he won’t understand for a while.  He doesn’t care. 

 

But – Simon had been outed.  It’s supposed to be _his_ thing, the one thing he has complete control over.  Coming out is huge; it changes the world’s perception of him, so when Martin had the audacity to out him after Abby rejected him, he took that away from Simon.  Martin did that of his own free will.  He fucked Simon over because he had been rejected in front of the whole school because of his dumbass idea.  Do his friends even have a sense of loyalty?  Simon doubts it because they left him when he needed them most.

 

He wants his mom.  It’s such a juvenile thought, and yet he has to assume that anyone would want maternal comfort when feeling this low.  Too bad he can’t miss school, not after winter break when the teachers really start piling on work, and not again after yesterday.  So, for now, he has to suffer through the rest of class despite wanting to sink into the ground. 

 

Looking at the clock provides relief for once in his life.  There are only 10 minutes left, which means that most of the class will start zoning out and the teacher knows this.  Simon stuffs his notebook into his backpack and slips his pencil into his pocket.  Adjusting his hat, he scoots back in his chair and lays his head on his arms.  He would be more comfortable if he wasn’t at school in a cold and hard chair with the desk digging into his ribs, but to be honest, wearing pajamas out of the house is pretty nice. 

 

Simon can feel a pair of eyes on him.  He considers ignoring it but if it’s someone ogling at him because he’s gay or whatever, he doesn’t want to let that type of behavior go without consequence.  Not that Simon wants to get into a fight or a confrontation – to be honest, he’s angry enough to start one if provoked, but it’s dampened by how exhausted he feels.  He decides it’s better to make sure someone is actually staring at him before thinking about starting a fight.  Peeling his cheek from his hoodie sleeve makes the room spin a little but Simon is sick of feeling like an animal at the zoo.

 

His eyes scan the room and land on Bram.  The other boy’s expression is easy to read; he looks concerned and doesn’t even look away.  Simon gives him a little smile that even he knows is painfully forced and turns away quickly before he can see Bram’s reaction.  The bell rang, saving him from whatever awkward and depression conversation Bram might try to initiate.  

 

Simon adjusts his hat again to better hide the fact that he values education over personal hygiene.  He doesn’t necessarily feel embarrassed but he’d rather not give anyone more ammunition to look at him weirdly.

 

The rest of the day passed horribly slowly.  He can’t care less about the simple-as-all-hell lessons currently monopolizing his classes.  Simon clears his mind throughout most of the day, moving his hand on auto-pilot during lunch.  There’s no sign of Abby, Nick, or Leah today.  He’s grateful – two anxiety attacks in two days would be too much for him to handle in the middle of the week.

 

He nearly bursts out laughing when, after the bell rings, he steps out of the school building and sees how very wrong he was.  The three of his…friends are standing beside his car.  Simon can’t get past them if he wants to drive home.  For a split second, he debates taking a sharp right and just walking home even with their eyes landing on him.  He thinks about the hurt in their eyes when they realize he would rather walk 3 miles than interact with them.  The disbelief melts away to let in the anxiety.

 

What if they just want to yell at him more?

 

Spite fuels his quick steps.  He reaches his car, hands in his pockets and expression closed off, probably looking like a textbook description of closed-off body language.  He can see it reflected in their eyes.

 

“Simon.”  Abby hesitates.  “I need to apologize.  I’m- I’m so sorry.  I overreacted and wasn’t fair to you.”

 

Simon doesn’t say anything.  That same festering anger-guilt-betrayal has been building for so long that he can’t help but let it out.  He’ll let her dangle.

 

She’s tearing up.  “I shouldn’t have blamed you for doing what you needed to do to keep Martin from outing you.  I am so sorry.”  Abby rubs her arm, voice cracking.  There’s genuine guilt on her face. 

 

Nick leans forward, now, and says, “Yeah, Simon.  We should have been there for you after Martin.  I was just- I felt betrayed.”  He pales a little; Simon scoffs.  “What I mean is-is, I didn’t really think it through.  I knew you had been outed, but I knew your parents would be okay with it, so I didn’t think it was a big deal. But when I saw Aaron and Spencer, I realized…I realized…”

 

Simon feels like something in his chest is being twisted.  Biting his cheek does nothing to keep his chest from hitching.  After so long of thinking that they hated him, of thinking that maybe actually did care that he’s gay, the rush of relief is so huge it’s painful.  So much mounting anxiety and self-loathing that has piled up is being dissolved.  Even though he was furious at them and at himself, it feels so good to talk to them again.

 

A tear slips down his cheek.  Leah steps forward, now, a stricken look on her face.  Concern is written in the tense line of her shoulders and stands out, stark in her eyes. 

 

“How could you have known,” she starts quietly, “That I had feelings for you when all I did was call you my best friend.  I never should have assumed you could pick up on my complete lack of flirting.  I was just so desperate for you to feel the same way.  I’m sorry, Simon, that we weren’t there for you when you needed us.  I’m _so_ sorry.  But if you’ll let us…we’ll make it up to you.”

 

“I’ll beat up Martin,” Nick offers.

 

That simple, stupid, and completely serious declaration is all it takes.  Simon curls in on himself and sobs, covering his eyes first and then his mouth to stifle his crying.  He’s so wrung-out and exhausted from keeping back the wave of emotions – something he hadn’t even know he was doing; Simon had assumed that he wasn’t repressing anything since he _has_ cried since that day – that there’s no use keeping it back.

 

Three pairs of arms wrap around him, three bodies joining him in his tears. 

 


End file.
